


Just an Act

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends AU, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Modern AU, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:43:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: With Christmas approaching, stage manager Brienne Tarth is rushing to prepare for her school's annual Christmas play.





	1. Setting Stage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WackyGoofball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/gifts).



> Secret Santa fic for Wacky. Prompt words: Bickering, Glances, Protectiveness.

“Brienne! Make sure that you keep an eye on the apple juice and Ribena. Robert Baratheon has been threatening to swap them with actual whiskey and red wine on the night,” Mrs Tyrell rolled her eyes and grimaced, “He has enough experience of getting drunk and merry without resorting to using real alcohol. The last thing we need is an intoxicated Mr Fizziwig on stage,”

Brienne set down a box on fairy lights and nodded dutifully. “Yes Mrs Tyrell, I'll get Stannis to keep an eye on him too. He'll be with him on stage so he will be able to keep him in line,”

Mrs Tyrell smirked. “Any other teenager would allow Robert to get drunk simply as revenge,”

Brienne's lips twitched. True, Stannis Baratheon seemed liable to declare a severe vengeance, full of dragons and blood and wildfire, in return for being cast as Mrs Fizziwig. Nevertheless, he had turned up to every performance and learned every line, becoming one of the play's most reliable cast members. He had been given a role to play and he would play, no skiving off on the flimsy excuses of flu or dentist appointments or surprise trips up North to see Father Christmas.

“It's for his own good if Robert doesn't get drunk,” Brienne pointed out, “Otherwise Robert will probably snog him or do something equally ridiculous. Anything to get a laugh,”

“He probably will,” Mrs Tyrell smiled, no doubt considering taking back her previous order of keeping Robert sober. She gave Brienne a final nod and went off to sort out two bickering carollers, one of whom was accusing the other of stealing their scarf.

Brienne watched Mrs Tyrell glide off and diffuse the situation. It was a wonder how the teacher managed to remain calm through all the chaos. Through all the broken props and missing costumes and tantrums over who was playing who, and all the other high emotion that came with with the school's Christmas production. Which was honestly far too much considering the majority of the audience were only coming to get teary eyed over their little darlings saying a single line as beggar two or having a solo in one of the carols, before dozing off in their seats. Yet despite the squabbles and rehearsals with only half the cast and the frequent bouts of stage fright, Mrs Tyrell kept a cool head.

Then again, what could faze the woman who survived the War of the Three Marys, when Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister and Dany Targaryen had battled fiercely over who got to play the Holy Mother. (In the end she just threw up her hands and said none of them could play her, shoving the Mary costume into the hands of the nearest student, who happened to be Stannis Baratheon. Thus starting his illustrious career of playing a woman in ever fucking play the school put on, even when he didn't audition.)

“Brienne!” a timid voice called, “Could you hold my crutches for me?”

Brienne turned to see Podrick Payne looking up with her, fumbling with his crutches as he tried to tie his cravat. The cast were trying on their costumes for the first time, and Brienne was run ragged trying to find bits of this and that. She reached out and took the crutches so Pod could do up his waistcoat and tie the cravat.

“You feeling good?” she asked, “Know your lines?”

Pod nodded and gulped. “I think so,” he muttered, “Though I keep getting nightmares of getting booed off,”

“You won't,” Brienne promised truthfully. The audience would love Pod. He had a sweet, baby face with brown eyes that shone with earnest goodness. He was the type of person that would have people cooing and going “aww bless” at the sight of him, even when he was a forty year old man with a mortgage and a Volvo. Even so, he still looked worried.

“You'll have Sam and Gilly on stage with you,” Brienne reassured him, “They'll look out for you,”

Pod looked somewhat comforted by that. Sam and Gilly were nice kids, the both of them, and very enthusiastic. They had turned up to the auditions for Bob and Mrs Scratchitt in matching costumes and were given the parts on the spot. Their own clothes sorted, they were also helping the rest of the cast find their various bits and pieces. Sam was handing newsboy hats to the beggars whilst Gilly helped little Lyanna Mormont find her muff and bonnet.

“Brienne!” Gilly waved, “Do you know where Lyanna's things are?”

Brienne gave a final smile to Pod before heading toward Gilly and Lyanna. She was used to being asked to find things and make sure everything was in the right place, but the dress run had her run off her feet. She had barely five seconds to fulfil one task before being rushed onto the next.

Briene stepped past Rhaegar Targaryen, already in his chains as Marley's ghost, holding a phone in each hand. On one was his ex-girlfriend, Elia, and on the other one was his other ex-girlfriend, Lyanna Stark. He was trying to get at least one them to take him back. Considering he kept getting their names mixed up, this seemed unlikely. Brienne dodged a falling box of tinsel and sidestepped the broken shards of a shattered bauble, before she joined Lyanna and produced her muff and bonnet like a magician.

Lyanna Mormont was to play Scrooge's little sister, Fran. She was the only girl of the correct age who could memorise all the lines and be brave enough to say them on stage. Even so, she was not a typical Fran. Instead of being a sweet, angelic child who pleaded innocently on her brother's behalf, she seemed more liable to have stared down their cruel father into submission. Which was heart warming in its own way. In fact, Brienne rather felt that if Lyanna did not get a standing ovation by herself, it would be a travesty.

That sorted, Brienne saw Sansa beckon her over.

“Will you help me run lines, Brienne?” Sansa asked desperately, “I still keep fluffing them up,”

“Of course I will,” Brienne assured her, “Are you free now?”

Sansa shook her head. “Not yet, I have to get my costume fitted,” she explained, her eyes lighting up at the thought of her beautiful costume. She was to wear a crinoline for the party scene, with a cape and muff over it for when she dumped Scrooge. With her dainty face and flaming hair, Brienne knew Sansa was going to look sensational, to her somewhat dismay.

“Oh, and have you seen Arya and Rickon, mum wants me to watch out for them?”

Brienne said no but promised to keep an eye out. She could not blame Mrs Stark for being concerned. The Stark children had been cast as Want and Ignorance, and at first had been content with pulling grotesque faces . Lately, they had been using other methods to get into character.

It started when Arya drew a penis on her form room's interactive white board. When told she should have known better, she simply replied “No I shouldn't. I'm Ignorance! I was just getting into character”. Mrs Tyrell had applauded her use of method acting and since then both Arya and Rickon had been running wild. Rickon got into the action by scribbling along the corridor because he 'wanted to', which was topped by Arya attaching water filled condoms stolen from her big brother onto the head teacher's car out of 'ignorance' on knowing that such a thing was wrong.

They were given detention, but detention was spent helping out back stage after school and in break, where Mrs Tyrell only praised them for their efforts.

Sansa smiled gratefully and hurried away to the E13, where the lead girls were getting their costumes. She halted and turned around to face Brienne with a smirk.

“By the way, have you _seen_ Jaime in his old man make-up and wig?” she mocked fanned herself, “Wrinkles and grey hair should not look that sexy,”

Brienne smiled weakly, shook her head and began sorting through a box of baubles as Sansa rushed off. She was about an eighteenth of a way through the task before she was interrupted by a cough.

“Well?” Jaime Lannister asked, arms outstretched, “How do I look?”

Brienne glanced around, and then quickly did a double take. Jaime was playing both the older Scrooge, alongside Scrooge as a young man. As a result, his elderly make-up could not be too drastic, just a few lines that only really had any affect when paired with a grey beard and wig held in place with a top hat.

“I'm hideous, aren't I?” he said.

Brienne rolled her eyes. Even in full miserly Scrooge regalia, Jaime looked infuriatingly dashing. And judging by the smile on his face, he knew it.

But then again, that was Jaime. Infuriating, smug and and unforgivably handsome. He was also the dearest friend Brienne had. They had met in nursery, when Brienne had wanted to join in with the boys playing knights. Jaime was the only one who had let play, even lending her one of his toy swords. A shiny plastic one with fake rubies on the hilt, which had been part of a set he had got for Christmas.

Since then, they had been partners for every project. The first pick for their team every P.E lesson and the one they sat next to on the coach for school trips. They had played in the woods outside Brienne's house, fighting pretend dragons, with blankets for capes and saucepan lids for shields along with Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail.

It had been Brienne who sat with Jaime during his mother's funeral after she died giving birth to his brother, Tyrion, and their friendship had only grown stronger when Cersei was expelled for drinking on school grounds and sent to a boarding school.

That said, their friendship hadn't stopped Brienne from calling Jaime out whenever he was a smug prat and it wasn't going to do so now, even if the sight of him had Brienne's heart leaping into her throat.

“Stop fishing for compliments, you arrogant arse, and do something useful. Come help me sort these baubles. I need all the green ones in one pile,”

Jaime recoiled in horror. “What!” he cried, “You would have the star of the show demean himself by doing the word of a mere stage hand?”

“Stop being a fucking princess and help me with the baubles,” Brienne snapped.

Jaime sighed dramatically and flopped to his knees. “If I must, can I at least arrange the blue ones?”

“Whatever for?” Brienne asked incredulously.

“The blue ones remind me of your eyes, my sweetest, loveliest Brienne,” Jaime declared.

Brienne rolled her eyes and hastily turned her back, anxious to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks. She knew she shouldn't take him too seriously. Jaime had been taken to flirting with her light heartedly for a while now, but she knew he didn't mean it. She knew that it was only an act.

 


	2. Break a Leg

“Nervous?” Brienne asked softly as she tied Jaime's cravat. She had found him fumbling and cursing with it. She took the cloth from his trembling hands and impatiently undid the tangle of knots.

Jaime shrugged. “A bit,” he muttered.

Brienne glanced up from the cravat. Up close he looked even more insufferably handsome. She returned her eyes to his collar and briskly finished the cravat, stepping back in relief.

“There,” Brienne nodded, “Don't fiddle with it,” she said sternly.

Jaime thrust his hands in his pockets and nodded, “Yes ma'am!”

“You'll be fine,” Brienne lay her hand on Jaime's shoulder, “You're wonderful. You know you're wonderful. You've told me often enough,”

“I don't hold with fake modesty,” Jamie said grandly, tilting his head.

“You don't hold with any sort of modesty, the concept is beyond you,” Brienne pointed out.

Jaime stretched out his hands and smirked. “Look at me. What do I have to be modest about?”

Brienne rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder lightly, “If you've got nothing to be modest about, why are you so nervous?”

Jaime's smile faltered. “My father is coming,” he admitted.

Brienne's eyes widened. “Oh,” she said simply. Despite having known Jaime since childhood, she had only met Tywin Lannister a handful of times. They preferred to meet up at Brienne's house of Jaime's Aunt Genna's, where Jaime and Tyrion practically lived ever since their mother died. On the rare occasions he was not away for work, and could actually stand the sight of his offspring, he would hold family dinners at the 'Fortress of Doom', as Jaime and Tyrion had dubbed it. With his exams edging closer, Tywin had taken to interrogating his eldest son with added fervour, and Jaime had begun dragging Brienne with him for moral support.

Tywin Lannister was a cold blooded, life sucking reptile of a man. Whenever he saw her, Tywin would fix Brienne with a soulless stare that seemed to cut right through to her core. Even so, Jaime said he liked her, else he would have had her assassinated by now.

“This is the first time he's coming to one of your plays, isn't it?” Brienne asked.

“He said that if I am going to insist on the 'acting nonsense' as a career, he should at least watch me to see if I am any good,” he told her.

“Well that's good, isn't it?” Brienne said optimistically, “If he is giving your acting a chance?”

Jaime nodded stiffly, a slight trickle of sweat dribbling down his forehead. “If he thinks I'm any good, he said he will pay for me to go to WADA next year,”

“You've told him you've been accepted?” Brienne asked.

“Mrs Tyrell phoned him to offer her congratulations. I don't know what she said, but through some dark magic she's got my father thinking that a distinguished stage actor in the family would give the Lannister name some culture,”

A smile split across Brienne's face. Selwyn had been scrimping and saving for the last ten years in the hope of putting her through Westeros Academy of Dramatic Arts, with Brienne working paper rounds ever since she was twelve. All their efforts had paid off when she had been accepted for their stage management course.

“If your dad says yes, we would be going to WADA together,” she whispered.

Jaime grinned and squeezed her arm. “I couldn't go without you,”

“Your dad will agree,” Brienne said with certainty, “When he sees you tonight, he will have to,”

Jaime grimaced, “Maybe, if pretending to find Sansa Stark anything other than repulsive does not prove too great a challenge,”

“Jaime!” Brienne protested, “Sansa is lovely!”

“Lovely and sweet and beautiful and boring as sliced bread,” Jaime agreed.

Brienne shook her head. “What do you have against Sansa?”

“Oh, nothing really,” Jaime admitted, “Though dress dummies who can act better than her. Mrs Tyrell only cast her as Belle because her niece has a crush on her,”

“That's utter rubbish,” Brienne declared.

“No it isn't, Mrs Tyrell told me so. She said 'Sansa Stark is a boring as sliced bread, and a dress dummy could act better than her, but Margaery has been hankering to see her in a corset so I cast her as Belle as an early Christmas present.' Then she apologised for lumbering me with such a dud,”

“You're too harsh on her, both of you. You shouldn't say things like that,” Brienne rebuked him.

“No, it's OK. We're talking about her behind her back, so she can't hear,” Jaime explained.

“You're certainly doing a good job at hiding it,” Brienne noted, “The rest of the cast are having a pool on when you too are going to get together,”

“What?” Jaime laughed incredulously.

“Well, I suppose they think it's only natural. Best looking girl in school, best looking guy in school,”

Jaime leered and leaned against the wall. “You think I'm attractive?”

Brienne hastily began sorting out a box of tinsel, trying to hide her blush. Jaime squatted down beside her and helped, that wretched smirk painted firmly across his face.

“Even if Sansa is the most attractive girl in school, she's still isn't my type,” he informed her.

“Isn't Sansa Stark everyone's type?” Brienne asked sceptically. Beautiful, always smiling and eager to please.

“Not everyone's,” Jaime said simply, “Some guys like girls who are a bit more... what does Mrs Tyrell say, singular,”

Brienne scoffed. “When you meet one, point him my way,”

Jaime opened his mouth to answer, when a ear piercing scream and deafening crash had them whipping round. They scrambled to their feet and chased after the noise. They rushed on stage to find a group of people tightly huddled, all talking frantically as Mrs Tyrell tried to hold them back. Podrick was sent running to find the first aid box.

Brienne grabbed his arm. “Pod, what's happened?”

“It's Sansa,” he panted, “She was helping with the lights when she fell from the step ladder and hurt her ankle,”

Brienne released him and joined Jaime at the huddle. In the centre, Sansa lay pale and shaking, whimpering in pain. Mrs Tyrell was gently examining her ankle, as Margaery Tyrell held Sansa's hand and murmured sympathetically.

The usually spirited Rickon and Arya Stark were silent and wide eyed, and Brienne wrapped her arms around their skinny shoulders.

“Alright Sansa, just stay still,” Mrs Tyrell ordered her firmly.

Sansa nodded, a glassy look in her eyes.

“I've phoned her parents,” the TA, Miss Merryweather said, “They are on their way,”

Mrs Tyrell nodded and removed her hands, “I think that's broken,” she told Sansa.

Sansa frantically shook her head, “No, no it can't be!” she shrieked, “It's fine. See, it's fine,”

Sansa grabbed Margaery's shoulder and pulled herself to feet, only to collapse with a shriek. Sandor, already garbed in black Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, swooped in and held her. Tears filling her lovely blue eyes, she started sobbing into Sandor's chest.

“I'm sorry Sansa,” Mrs Tyrell said softly, laying a hand on the devastated girl's shoulder, “But there is no way you can go on tonight,”

Sansa's tears doubled as she wailed hysterically. Mrs Tyrell nodded and Sandor carried her away to somewhere quiet, Arya and Rickon following behind. The drama teacher turned to face the rest of the cast gravely.

“We will have to get someone to go on in Sansa's place,” she announced, “They can carry a script and everyone else in her scenes will have to all they can to help them through it,”

Brienne could feel the dismay pouring off Jaime. For everything he said, Sansa was a perfectly lovely Belle. For him to end up acting beside a total novice, stuttering over a script, before his father would be an utter disaster. A reasonable man would know such a thing was beyond Jaime's control, but this was Tywin Lannister.

“Does anyone know Sansa's lines?” Davos Seaworth, the Ghost of Christmas Present, suggested.

The cast looked round, muttering and craning their heads for someone who might know Sansa's part.

Jaime stuck his hand in the air. And then, in a loud, clear voice, he announced “Brienne does!”

 


	3. Curtain Up

“No. No no no no! _No,”_ Brienne said over an over. She said no even as Jaime explained how she helped him learn his lines. She said no even as Mrs Tyrell thrust the blocking book into her hands and ordered her to study it like a bible. She kept saying no as the wardrobe assistant took out her tape and measured her, in the hopes of finding a costume that will fit. No one was listening to her.

It was Tormund Giantsbane trying to dance with her at the summer disco all over again. (Thankfully Tormund had been kicked out since then for inappropriate conduct on the school's visit to the zoo.)

“I can't!” she ended up shouting over the din, “I can't play Belle,”

“Why not?” Mrs Tyrell demanded, “You know the words, and Jaime and I will talk you through the blocking,”

Brienne looked over her shoulder, wishing everybody wasn't listening in on their conversation.

“Well, Sansa's costume will certainly not fit me for one. And you're hardly going to find a hooped ballgown my size in time,” Brienne pointed out.

“Actually,” Mrs Tyrell mused, running her eyes over Brienne's body contemplatively and nodding at the assistant, “I think we have something from last year's pantomime that might do,”

“Yeah, the pantomime dame's costume maybe,” she scoffed sarcastically. She saw the look in their eyes. “Oh Gods, it's the dame's costume,”

“Go with Donyse and have your costume fitted,” Mrs Tyrell ordered her, “Jaime, go with her and run your lines,”

Jaime went to take Brienne's arm, only for her to try jerking it away. She stepped back, her eyes wide and frightened like a rabbit's caught in headlights.

“Jaime,” she pleaded, whispering imploringly, “Don't make me do this,”

“Please Brienne,” he begged. She shook her head frantically, backing away. He tried to pull her along as she stubbornly dug in her heels.

Jaime met her eyes, his own green ones guilt ridden and conflicted. He saw the agony in Brienne's face, but at the same time...even so, his grip on her arm slackened.

Brienne saw the battle raging in Jaime's head and knew which side was winning. Guilt coiled in her stomach as she looked at her friend's face. Going on stage would mean a night of humiliation for her, after what was admittedly a lifetime of humiliation. So not much change there. But if tonight went well for Jaime, it could affect his entire career.

She gulped and nodded. “Alright,” she told him, “But you owe me. Big time,”

#

“Oh Jaime, you owe me so much. It would take a kidney and a lung for you to stop owing me,”

“If you ever find yourself in the need for transplant, they're yours,” Jaime promised.

Brienne was stood teetering on a dressmaker's stool as Donyse pinned a blue satin hooped skirt monstrosity into place. The skirts made sure it just about passed as a Victorian ballgown, but it required some major adjustments, especially concerning the ornaments.

“It will be fine,” Donyse promised, “We will take the bows and butterflies and umm...the teapots off, and it will look lovely,”

“Buck up Brienne,” Jaime said, having regained his breath from his laughing fit, “If Stannis Baratheon can wear that dress, teapots and all, you can,”

“I think we will take off the frills and the collar as well,” Donyse mused.

“Thank Christ,” Jaime grinned at Brienne. She didn't grin back. Instead her face was plastered with a hideous scowl.

“Smile Brienne,” he chirped, “You're looking more Beast than Belle right now,”

“As though a smile will change that,” Brienne muttered, glowering at the shiny satin skirt.

Jaime opened the script, “Come on, we'll read lines. Remember, you're a beautiful young ingénue who is hopelessly in love with me. Do you think you can handle that?”

“It will be a stretch,” Brienne sniped, her stomach twisting. A beautiful young ingénue who was hopelessly in love with Jaime? Well, it was half right.

#

“Deep breaths,” Sandor Clegane instructed in his gruff voice, “If I can suffer through this shit show, so can you,”

Brienne nodded tightly, gulping. “How's Sansa?” she whispered.

“Gone to the hospital with her dad,” he whispered back, “Her mum is here filming the performance for them,”

“Poor Sansa,” Brienne sighed, shutting up as the house lights dimmed and the curtain rose.

Brienne and Sandor were lurking in the wings, waiting for their cues. Neither were on until later. Already feeling sick to the stomach, Brienne felt near vomiting with nerves when Jaime first took to the stage. Forgetting her own fears momentarily, she prayed desperately that Tywin would be proud of Jaime. She wanted it to go well for Jaime so much. If going onstage wearing frills and teapots were what was needed, she would have done it, for him.

And yet watching Jaime, she felt her nerves slip away. He was delightfully gruff, snarking and bantering with Bronn, who was playing his nephew Fred. Every other line had the audience chuckling, and Brienne felt her cheeks stretch out into a delighted beam. She wondered if Tywin was laughing. She doubted it, he did not seem the type. She could only imagine Tywin laughing if he was wearing a black cape and was cackling over the painful defeat of his enemies, lightning cracking in the background against a starless sky.

Having a nice chuckle over his child's Christmas play didn't seem his sort of thing.

Even so, Tywin Lannister had to be impressed with Jaime's performance. He lit up the stage and the audience adored him, pleasantly surprised to find some actual acting talent at a school play. His charisma and energy dragged the calibre of the rest of the cast along with him. Sam was a darling Bob Scratchitt, sweet and earnest against Scrooge's bitter sarcasm. Even Rhaegar Targaryen, nursing his wounds over losing the loves of lives, pulled himself together and put in a positively chilling performance. His little sister Dany, who was as usually as emotive as a block of wood, managed to make a genuinely eery and frightening Ghost of Christmas Past.

Lyanna Mormont was charming as Fran, she and Brandon Stark portraying a young Scrooge had the audience weeping. Brienne caught sight of Jaime watching the pair, real tears pouring down his cheeks as he watched his younger self be invited home for Christmas. Brienne's heart clenched, thinking of Jaime's own father who had practically banished both him and his siblings when his wife died.

Her mind turned to her own dad, who was not expecting to see her on stage. She was lucky, her father always managed to see the best in her and knew that whatever she did she always tried her best. However the night went, he would be proud. But she still wanted to earn that pride.

Before she knew it, the scene turned to Fizzywig's party. Heart in throat, she watched as the revellers danced merrily, counting down until her cue. The audience was in hysterics, watching (a possibly intoxicated) Robert swing and skip around with a rouged and bewigged Stannis. Jaime was to be watching as old Scrooge, but as the music and spirit rose he was to transition into the younger Scrooge by ripping off his beard and hat in a fit of exuberance and dance into the middle.

He did so flawlessly, removing his robe and grey hair on swift movements and seamlessly skipping into the enter of the dance. Brienne clenched her fists. She was to watch him dance around twice, and then join him as the music slowed and a light dimmed.

Trembling, she heard the bright energetic music fade into a gentle waltz and froze. She could feel Sandor prodding her in the back, but still she could not move. Jaime halted and caught sight of her, waiting in the wings. Concern filled his eyes as he saw her refusing to move. Slowly, he extended his hand and beckoned her to join him.

Tripping over her skirts, she did. A hush fell upon the audience as he took her hand in his and wrapped he protectively in his arms. He held her still until the music reached an appropriate peak, before leading her in a dreamlike waltz. She stumbled over the simple steps, but Jaime guided her through. Gaining her bearings, he smiled at proudly, and she smiled back.

A sigh rippled through the audience. Someone, a man, was blubbing loudly. Brienne's father, no doubt.

She closed her eyes and rested in Jaime's arms, feeling the warm grip of his hands and the thud of his heart against her own. She had dreaded this dance, and yet as the music trailed off she found herself longing for it to never end.

The dance culminated in a kiss. It was meant to be a light peck, a stage kiss. But Jaime's mouth was so firm and tender against her own, that it almost felt real.

It wasn't. Brienne kept telling herself that, all throughout the rest of her scenes. She told her that as Jaime kindly steered her from place to place, his hand gripping her own. It was not real, she told herself as Jaime looked into her eyes and said he loved her. It was not real, she said again and again as she heart brokenly told Scrooge she was calling the engagement off.

It's not real, she told herself as she turned her back and left Jaime on stage. There were tears prickling at her eyes. It was not real.

But it felt real.

 


	4. Lights Turn On

The house lights rose and the audience were on their feet. Jaime grinned as he spotted Selwyn Tarth blubbing and slapping his hands against each other between heaving gulps. Tywin sat in the back row, his face inscrutable. Had Scrooge not been reformed, and continued believing that the less fortunate should die and decrease the surplus population, Tywin's response may have been more enthusiastic. His phone was out, but Jaime had expected that. Tywin always had a phone at hand to ensure his work could contact him, Jaime knew one night of Christmas magic was unlikely to change that.

The Spirit of Christmas could only go so far.

Knowing he wouldn't read his father's answer from his face alone, Jaime turned his focus to a more serious matter of hand. Brienne.

She should have been on stage, receiving her share of applause. Surely, she deserved it more than anyone else. Taking charge back stage, keeping track of every scarf and bonnet. Half the cast would have forgotten their lines had she not rehearsed with them. Then stepping in at the last minute. Selwyn was right to blub.

Taking his final bow, Jaime broke away from the throng of celebrating students (and Stannis and Sandor who were as miserable as usual). He set of in search of Brienne and found her, changed out of her ballgown and back in jeans and jumper. She was methodically sorting out boxes, ready to pack away the props.

“Brienne?” he asked, “Why aren't you on stage?”

Brienne twisted round and gave Jaime a pained sort of smile. “The sooner I get started on this, the sooner I get it done,” she explained, “Besides, I simply had to get out of that dress,”

“I actually think you looked quite nice,” Jaime shrugged, squatting down and helping Brienne with her boxes.

“I can do that,” Briene snapped, batting his hands away.

In the dim light Jaime could just make out a frown on Brienne's forehead. Stress, no doubt. He removed his hands and smiled gently at her.

“Alright, you do that,” he said, “There's squash and mince pies in the hall. Can I get you some?”

“No thanks,” Brienne said stiffly.

“What about some Yule log,? Jaime persisted.

Brienne sat back and frowned at Jaime suspiciously.

“Why are you acting like that?” she demanded.

“Like what?”

“All...” Brienne struggled for the word, “Nice. It's weird,”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “I am nice,” he insisted.

“Jaime, you are many things. Some of which I admit are not completely terrible,” Brienne conceded, “But nice isn't one of them,”

“Well, I do owe you,” Jaime pointed out.

“A kidney and a lung, was what we agreed if I remember,”

“It was,” Jaime confirmed, “But because you killed it out there, I'm willing to throw in some bone marrow as well. Just a little something extra,”

“Merry Christmas me,” Brienne muttered.

“Jaime!” a curt voice called, causing all traces of merriment to vanish from Jaime's pale face.

Tywin Lannister stood waiting, an impatient edge to his voice. Brienne saw the clenching of Jaime's jaw and the stiffening of his shoulders. She gave his hand a quick squeeze and nodded for him to speak to his father.

Shoving his trembling hands into his waistcoat pocket, Jaime strolled forward and stared his father in the eye.

“Well then,” Tywin nodded, “I suppose we may begin discussing your acting career,”

Jaime turned momentarily numb, only realising he was smiling when his cheeks started to ache.

“W-what?” he stammered.

“I said,” Tywin snapped, “That I am willing to support you in your acting career. But only on the condition that you will work, and take it seriously,”

“Oh I will!” Jaime promised fervently, “I will take acting more seriously than anything,”

“See that you do,” Tywin said sternly, before abruptly ending the conversation and returning to his phone, ordering for his car to be brought round. Jaime would be going home with Aunt Genna and Tyrion. Crushing down the slight disappointment at his father's coldness, Jaime instead allowed himself to be carried away in ecstasy in having swayed his father. No more arguments over business college or taking over the family empire. He would be going to WADA.

He had tell everyone. Tyrion and Aunt Genna and Mrs Tyrell, though she probably already had an inkling. But before anyone else, he had to tell Brienne.

Jaime spun round to celebrate his joy with Brienne, only to find her gone.

#

## “Has anyone seen Brienne?” Jaime demanded, bursting into the boy's dressing room. Bronn, Rhaegar, Davos and Sandor all looked up and made faces at their leading man's dramatic entrance.

“Sure I have,” Bronn replied, “Tall, blonde, with legs that could wrap around your waist, break your hips and you'd thank her for it,”

Jaime was too focussed on finding Brienne to bother smashing in Bronn's teeth. He absent-mindedly made a note to perform said dentistry on the fifth of January, and turned back to the matter at hand.

“Well?” he repeated.

“She went home with her dad,” Sandor shrugged, “He was blubbing all over her and making a big fuss. Couldn't blame her for wanting to get away quickly,”

“Ah, that wasn't why she rushed off,” Bronn corrected Sandor.

“Well why did she?” Jaime asked, “She could have least stayed to say goodbye to me,”

“She left _because_ she wanted to get away from you,” Bronn exclaimed.

“What?”

Bronn rolled his eyes and zipped up his jacket. “If you can't figure it out, I ain't explaining it to you,” he strolled from the room, calling a flippant “Merry Christmas!” over his shoulder.

“What the hell is he on about?” Jaime implored.

Davos took pity on the befuddled young man, and smiled sympathetically. “I think it may have been a bit too emotional for Brienne on stage tonight. What with the dancing and holding and...kissing,”

Seeing the hopeless confusion on Jaime's face, Sandor threw his scarf on the floor and growled, “She' in love with you, you prick!”

Jaime turned pale and blinked.

“Brienne's in love with me?” he repeated, utterly dumbfounded.

“Yes, yes,” Sandor snapped impatiently, “And you're in love with her. Now you can tell or nor tell her, but move out of the doorway before I throw you out. I need to get going,”

Jaime smartly stepped aside and allowed the hulking Clegane boy to storm pass. He turned to see Rhaegar and Davos watching him.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked at last. Both boys nodded simultaneously. Jaime shuddered. Even Rhaegar had been able to pick up on it. He must have been obvious if Rhaegar Targaryen had noticed it, along with everyone else. Everyone else, it seemed, except Brienne. Brienne, who loved him back.

“What about the pool?” he stuttered, “On me and Sansa?”

“Bullshit,” Davos said dismissively, “Brienne overheard there was a pool about you and asked Pod. He blurted out the Sansa stuff and had us go along with it,”

“Should...should I tell her?” he asked Davos, turning to the fatherly sixth form student for advice.

Davos smiled gently. “I think you should,” he said firmly.

“Do it Jaime,” Rhaegar urged him on, “Do it before you lose her. I'd do anything to turn back the clock and get my girl back,”

“Which one?” Davos asked curiously.

“Lyanna, or Elia, or both,” Rhaegar shrugged, “I'm not picky,”

“Now?” Jaime asked, rushing to gather his things, “Should I tell her now?”

“Why wait,” Davos pointed out, “After all, there is no time like the present,”

“Present,” Jaime repeated, a smile spreading across his face, “Present, or course!” he cried out, flinging on his cut and rushing out the door. He was going to find Brienne, and when he did, he knew exactly what he was going to say.

#

“I'll get it!” Brienne yelled, rushing hastily to the front door and away from her cursing father, who was in the midst of untangling the Christmas lights. “Jaime?” she asked,” surprised at seeing her best friend standing at the front door, beads of sweat dribbling down his forehead and a rather slap-dashed Christmas present in his hands, “What are you doing here?”

“Brienne I-” Jaime began, only to be cut off by a stream of swears coming from the living room.

“Fucking pile of shitty crap light wankers!” Selwyn thundered.

Brienne grimaced. “Sorry,” she apologised, “Dad is doing battle with the lights,” she rolled her eyes as her father let out a thunderous roar and threatened to smash the lights, one by one, “They're winning. It's not exactly Christmassy in there, I can tell you,”

“Oh I don't know,” Jaime quipped, “Swearing, shouting and father issuing death threats. Sounds exactly like Christmas to me,”

Brienne stepped onto the doorstep and shut the door behind her. “Why are you here?”

Jaime held up the present, cellotape peeling off and the corners crumpled. “I came to bring your Christmas Present,”

“But we're meeting up Christmas Day,” Brienne pointed out, not taking the gift.

“We will,” Jaime assured her, “We'll call this a thank you gift, for getting me into WADA,”

“You did that,” Brienne said earnestly, “Your talent, your hard work. That's what got you in. That, and Mrs Tyrell twisting your dad's arm, most likely,”

Jaime shook his head and thrust the present into Brienne's hands. “You helped me more than you could know,” he insisted, “Supporting me, coming onstage with me, even though I knew you hated it. Just being there...forget about thank you for helping me get into WADA. I just want to thank you, for everything you have done,”

Brienne swallowed awkwardly. To avoid having to say anything and giving away the tears rapidly rising in her eyes, Brienne diverted her attention to the gift and ripped away the paper. There lay a scratched and nicked plastic sword, one of the three 'rubies' missing from the chipped gold paint handle.

“Oathkeeper,” she murmured softy, memories of summer days spent exploring the wood with blankets for capes rushing into her head, “You kept it?”

“Of course I did,” Jaime grinned, pulling Widow's Wail out from his own jacket, “It's part of a set. One of two halves” He held out his sword and turned sideways, “En Guard!” he cried.

A devilish smile overtook Brienne's face as she held out her own sword and swung at Jaime. They dodged and sidestepped each other's swipes, laughter bubbling up as the leaped and spun. Their thrashes grew wilder and their footwork clumsier, culminating in Jaime skidding on a patch of ice and Brienne falling on top of him after trying to hold him up.

They lay there in silence, warm and panting. Jaime's arms circled Brienne and gripped her protectively. “Are you OK?” he asked gently.

Brienne nodded. “I'm fine,” she assured him, but made no move to get up. She looked into Jaime's eyes, then his mouth, and then his eyes again.

And then they kissed.

Brienne broke away and stared around in confusion. The whole thing felt so bizarre. The stars in the sky and the lights in the window's and the silver frost on the grass and trees. And Jaime, so warm and strong beneath her.

“Brienne?” Jaime asked, his forehead furrowing in concern, “Was...was that alright?”

Brienne nodded numbly, turning back to her friend. “I just-” she began hesitantly, “It just doesn't-,” she gulped, “I'm just making sure this is real,” she explained at last.

Jaime reached out and ran a thumb along Brienne's cheek. “It's real,” he said simply, “It's all real,”

And to prove it, he kissed her again.

 


End file.
